


We will Rebuild (of course we will)

by Katology



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Deathfic, Established Relationship, Good Tom Riddle, Hurt/Comfort, I Made Myself Cry, Idiots in Love, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katology/pseuds/Katology
Summary: “NO!!”The anguished, piercing scream rang through the silent ruins. A young man with chestnut hair and a feral expression on his otherwise elegant face rushed desperately towards his lover.The cooling body of his beloved, that is.In which Tom believes Harry is dead at the end of the Battle of Hogwarts. Angst ensues.





	We will Rebuild (of course we will)

“NO!!”

 

The anguished, piercing scream rang through the silent ruins. A young man with chestnut hair and a feral expression on his otherwise elegant face rushed desperately towards his lover.

 

The cooling body of his beloved, that is.

 

Tom Riddle clutched his wand as he ran towards the only person he had ever loved. Ever cared for. The human race as a whole was meaningless, tiny ants scuttling along, unaware of the broader view of the world. Harry was above that. He rose above all the other boring, forgettable faces; a diamond in a sea amongst useless stones.

 

His magic roared to punctuate the intensity of his loss. Already, tears flowed freely down his pale cheeks, ignoring the pleading yells of Granger and Weasley. He did not care if Voldemort saw him. He did not care for the secrecy anymore. Hell, if he did see him; Tom knew he would not hesitate to make him scream for what he did to Harry.

 

Tom would flay his scaled skin, peeling it from his muscles just to watch him writhe. He would watch blood flow out of every orifice he could create, giving vindictive smirks every time he begged for mercy. A dark curl of amusement and satisfaction rose from his gut as an image of a pulverized Dark Lord flashed in his mind.

 

He is a complete and utter _monster_. Voldemort needs to be put down like the rabid animal he is. He killed _his_ Harry. Harry with too bright a smile. Harry with an emerald green gaze that seemed to bore into his very soul, and he found that he didn't mind that unnerving ability at all.

 

Harry would smirk at his challenges and snark right back, where others would cower and allow Tom to assert his dominance pitifully.

 

Through the red of Tom’s vision, Voldemort stared in astonishment, gaping. The more enthusiastic Death Eaters behind him surged forward minutely, but stood back when the Dark Lord held up his pale hand, signalling to halt their motions. Glowing ruby eyes stared into Tom’s destroyed gray ones with an incredulous sheen.

 

In the small part of his mind that wasn't reeling over Ha- _his_ death, he found that the expression was quite comical on his bone-white features and slitted nose.

 

“YOU KILLED _MY_ HARRY!” he spat, the eerie silence of the courtyard allowing his voice to carry a distance. Everyone could hear him; and his intervention sparked an audience.

 

The Dark Lord’s expression closed off; obviously realizing that Tom was fighting against him. None of the disbelief was present on his face anymore; there was only insane fury that his younger self was on the _light_ side.

 

‘Good,’ Tom thought darkly. He wanted Voldemort’s decimation to be seen by everyone, those who were once terrorized by the caricature of man to enjoy his degradation. And besides, he wants his vengeance unheeded; and he won't let something as petty as people, witnesses, to stop him from receiving his due.

 

He shot a bright green killing curse, soaring over Har-- _his_ body, and right in the path of the Dark Lord. Voldemort didn't hesitate to step to the side, ever so casually, and it enveloped some unnamed Death Eater. Black robes fell to the ground with a thud. The surrounding Death Eaters stared at their fallen comrade.  

 

What a pity.

 

Tom didn't waste any time to throw three more barely-legal curses in quick succession, all of them flying through the air unheeded until it met a pearlescent shield, and dissipated with colorful sparks.

 

Voldemort snarled at that and rose his yew wand into the air, swirling it with choppy motions, before a black fire erupted from the wandpoint.

 

He lunged towards the side as a flare of darkened flames shot past him. A wave of heat licked at his right side. The fire brushed against him, warming his pale forearm and shoulder briefly. Screams exploded from where it undoubtedly struck their spectators.

 

More fiery spears shot past him. Tom kept dodging repeatedly and sending back curses in equal measure, adrenaline and grief-fueled rage powering his spells. He spun out of the way of a particularly close Cruciatus, judging from the dark red glow.

 

He sent a cutting curse with a fierce grin. It struck the shocked, infuriated face of Voldemort. A long cut slashed jagged across his pale face, starting at his scalp and ending at his flat nostril; going unheeded through one of his ruby eyes.

 

Voldemort let out a scream of rage that engulfed Bellatrix's own. Surges of magic radiated off the Dark Lord, like waves of heat that warped the air around him violently; the magic vibrating around him in a protective guise.

 

“You will pay for that,” his high, sibilant voice snarled heatedly, sending more curses Tom’s way, “Why are you on the side of the light, my _dear_ child. We both know you are nearly as dark as I am,”

 

He gave a twisted, taunting smile, eyes still haunted with his grief. He twirled out of the way of the barrage of spells and used the momentum to fling another killing curse, Voldemort intercepted it with a summoned crow, “You fool, I’m not on the side of the light,” Tom said condescendingly.

 

He shot another curse, electric blue light is encircling Voldemort predatorily.

 

The Dark Lord tilted his head in apparent thought, undamaged eye gleaming. He gave a smirk, blood dripping onto his lipless mouth before he evaporated the blue spell surrounding him with a minute wave of his wand.

 

“Oh?” Voldemort asked disbelievingly, black tendrils snaking off of him and slithering towards his younger self, “Forgive me if I don't believe you, _Tom_ ,”

 

There was an insane edge to Tom’s grin as the black edged towards him, “I'm not on the side of the light. My only loyalties are towards Harry,”

 

He burned the tendril that wrapped around his ankle, and it melted into purple smoke. Tom stopped breathing, reluctant to inhale the potentially toxic fumes. He stepped forward regally.

 

The smokey veil gave away to Tom Riddle, insane from grief. His gray eyes were on fire. His smile was too sharp, tears falling undeterred; he looked decidedly terrifying, animalistic.

 

“You killed him,” he remarked, tone casual. Though his face told a whole different story, “I will destroy you. And I will enjoy it immensely,”

 

Voldemort's expression was deceptively blank, blood starting to scab on his face, the Elder Wand clutched between his spindly fingers in a harsh grip, “He has made you weak,” he intoned with a sneer, “So this is what the Great Tom Riddle would've became if he had chosen _love_.”

 

He laughed softly, high and bitterly cold, “You are pathetic,” he spat derisively.

 

Silence cloaked the clearing, the survivors of the battle watching with blood splattered clothing still on their backs. Smoke rose in the distance, what was once the stunning castle scattered and burning.

 

“Maybe so,” Tom said, softly, _dangerously_. “I’d rather be pathetic if I ever had the chance of becoming you,”

 

Everyone seemed to sharply inhale at that, staring with a bated breath. They stood frozen, awaiting Lord Voldemort’s response.

 

There were vastly different ideas of what would occur next:

 

A thrown killing curse, sparking another heated battle that awed and terrified the audience in equal measure.

 

A signal for the Death Eaters to converge as one, to cut through the remaining survivors with ease.

 

However, no one expected him to laugh.

 

He exploded into insane cackles. The Dark Lord doubled over from the laughter and everyone just stood shock still as the hair rose from behind their backs. A harsh breeze fluttered through the courtyard, causing a few to startle from the unsettling sensation. Birds crowed, disturbed from the jarring noise that punctured everyone's ears simultaneously.

 

Voldemort shook from the mirth, and gave a shark-like grin. Tom frowned. He wasn't expecting that reaction.

 

“My dear child,” he started, voice saturated with something alike regret, “If you truly believe that, well…” he trailed off.

 

“I pity you,” he said simply, “You could've been great, but you've decided to accompany yourself with mudbloods and filth. All because of _love_ ,” he snarled disgusted at the very thought of the concept.

 

Tom’s heart gave a painful throb at the renewed thought of Harry, anger and grief filling his veins to the brim; threatening to spill over as Harry’s body crept into his peripheral vision unbidden.

 

Harry’s beautiful black mop of messy hair was matted and covered with dirt and leaves, as if he was dragged through the dirty forest floor. There was a smear of mud on his deathly pale face; which once held a healthy flush when he would laugh brightly.

 

He had _told_ him not to go to the forest. To not go to the trap obviously set for him by his older self.

 

Tom felt disgusted and horrified that he was related to Voldemort. That he was connected to the monster who destroyed Harry with a cruel, merciless grin. Unfeeling unless sadistic glee counted.

 

Harry was _gone_. He would not challenge his expectations ever again, eat treacle tart while reviewing for an exam, snark at the potions professor…

 

Bile rose up into his throat at the thought.

 

More tears blurred his vision as he stood still, staring at Voldemort with increasing fury present on his face. His hand shook slightly and his eyes squinted shut momentarily.

 

 _Bastard_.

 

In his haze of fury, bright green sparks dripped off his wand. Voldemort watched with a rapt eye, Bellatrix staring attentively to have certainty of her master’s safety.

 

“AVADA KEDAVRA!"

 

The battle started with a renewed fury, spells thrown back and forth and dodging amidst a deadly dance. Glittering sparks of red, green, and blue scattered like embers in a flame; crackling with power and lethality. Both of them had intense expressions on their face, features highlighted by the hues of light bouncing off their skin, making them illuminate an ethereal glow.

 

Their footwork was impeccable; threatening to outdo the other with one small mishap. All it would take is one error and one would fall, the last thing they ever saw the sadistic, triumphant face of the victor. And a green light blinding everything else in the world. Until everything went dark.

 

Tom was panting harshly, his footing threatening to slip with every hastily dodged spell.

 

Voldemort however, was ever so casual. There was not even a hint of perspiration on his white skin, the wound on his face not hindering him in the slightest. He had a shark-like grin on his face, enjoying the high of the duel, or perhaps finally having a worthy opponent. 

 

After all, it was himself; just younger.

 

Tom was beginning to worry. He did not have enough stamina to face his older self; who undoubtedly has had much more experience than himself. The only thing Tom had going for him was his motivation.

 

He had nothing to live for, aside from eviscerating and maiming the person who killed _his_ Harry. After that… well. He hasn't gotten that far yet. He doesn't know what he will do.

 

Love is a particularly vicious motivator.

 

He didn't have time to send another spell when a flash of dark blue light overtook his vision, and then it was gone. Voldemort seemed to give a victorious grin, the expression reaching his one good eye.

 

He didn't have a moment to wonder why when a molten pain bloomed.

 

There was a jerk as Tom’s body suddenly ceased. His fingers turned numb as the world went black around the edges. He could hear his heart beat valiantly, fighting against the power of the curse rushing through his veins. Tom could already hear the distorted yells from around him as his world tilted on its axis.

 

He couldn't even feel the cold of the ground. Tom’s hands were grasping at the dirt and rubble with the last of his strength, his muscles failing to work. Panic rose up in his gut as a throbbing pain exploded in his chest; his heart pulsing with an unbearable heat that surged what felt like _lava_  through his bloodstream. Tom hoped that he was not screaming desperately. It was probably in vain, though.

 

The world became a caricature of itself, the blue of the sky turning gray and dull. The forbidden forest swirling into unrecognizable sea of greens and browns. Bright lights dotted his vision, growing bigger with every second.

 

There was a sticky fluid oozing out from beneath him. It took an embarrassingly long amount of time for Tom’s sluggish brain to realize that it was blood. His blood. He was dying.

 

Tom would've let out a choked sob if he had control over his body. He _failed_ Harry; utterly.

 

Even so, it was a fool's undertaking, a suicide mission, to rush to Voldemort like that. He knew that he would've lost deep down, even if he refused to consider the possibility.

 

The thought did not make him feel better. He still failed. Harry deserved better.

 

Soft, measured footsteps echoed against the looming presence of death, the strobing lights receding for a moment at the burst of _terror_ that consumed him at the sound; for there was only one person it could be.

 

Voldemort.

 

The Dark Lord’s gleeful face emerged from his black-lined vision, his pitiless and glowing eye in hyper-focus. A slow grin overtook his grotesque features, out of place along with his slitted nose and sunken cheekbones.

 

He squinted his eyes shut, before opening them again with defiant, pain-filled eyes.

 

“And so how the mighty have fallen,” Voldemort whispered softly, caressing each word with reverence.

 

He took one, pale foot out of his flowing black robes and pressed it down cruelly on Tom’s shoulder. He put his entire weight on it like a curious child, tilting his head.

 

A loud crack echoed in his ears, and he couldn't even attempt to brace himself from the horrific pain. This time, Tom was completely sure that he screamed.

 

The black rushed with renewed vigor.

 

“This is where you belong, you know…” he said conversationally, tilting his head even more. He took in Tom’s pain-consumed features with increasing smugness, ”... at my feet, screaming against the _delicious_ agony,”

 

Voldemort leaned down, as if he was going to share a secret, “Your precious Boy-who-Lived isn't here to save you now,” he whispered faux-conspiratorially, “And so… you will die here. Beneath me,”

 

“F-fuck you,” Tom rasped, a copper tang covering his dry mouth. He let out a keening noise when Voldemort pressed harder on his broken shoulder.

 

The Dark Lord laughed softly, amused, “How crude… but it was not if I had expected anything less,”

 

He finally removed his foot with a jerk, straightening immediately. Tom let out a gasp at the sudden release of pressure.

 

Everything was still once more, before a cacophony started.

 

Distorted screams and yells overtook the quiet serenity; some relieved, some enraged. Sparks of green light soared overhead as his muddled brain tried to make sense of the situation.

 

“ _Beautiful_ ,” he thought detached.

 

He had trouble keeping his eyes open, fighting against the blurring of his vision with all of the strength and stubborn resolve he can muster. It was not enough.

 

The darkness dotted his vision and grew, the last of the colors blooming into a bright white. A single tear went down his face as his arms laid immobile, the effort to move them too much.

 

A desperate voice, terrified and agonized, screamed. Just before everything went black, familiar green eyes cloaked with glasses stood overhead. Warm hands cradled his cheeks delicately, wiping away the tears and holding him like he was _everything_. Sobs interjected the roaring of his slowing blood, before those sounds faded into nothing.

 

Tom smiled when the world disappeared. Harry was waiting for him.

 

There was an echoing thump of his heart, reverberating until it was too faint to hear.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Tom felt was a warm, comforting pressure covering his hand.

 

He opened his eyes with a wince as a sudden headache began to throb behind his temples. Tom hissed at the sensation and shut his eyes against the unbearable brightness.

 

_Where was he?_

 

He squinted against the painfully bright room. There were metal bed frames everywhere, each holding people with a variety of injuries. Medical personnel holding various potions and tools bustled about, helping their patients with an impressive efficiency.

 

There was suddenly a loud chime that rung overhead, and one of the Healers, a plump blonde woman, hurried over and began casting numerous spells. She clicked her tongue and stared worriedly as Tom began to scoot back.

 

Flashes of ruby eyes, dead bodies, the stench of blood pervaded his senses.

 

Desperation flooded him; a response to the _threat_ above him. All he could see, all he could feel is the echoes of his organs liquidating and seeping out of his skin as blood. There were sadistic, lipless smiles. Harry’s pale face, covered in mud and dead on the ground…

 

Tom began to hyperventilate. It was uncontrollable. Panic rolled through his veins, and he wasn't aware that he was lashing out, punching the healer like a cornered animal.

 

“STOP!” he cried, Voldemort looming over him with a smirk, wand pointed straight at his heart, a midnight blue light…

 

“Your scaring him!” a _beautiful_ voice yelled authoritatively, “Get AWAY from him!”

 

Tom froze.

 

He would recognize that voice anywhere. It was in his dreams constantly. A consistent presence that would calm him instantly, soothing him when he would have nightmares of the orphanage. The only voice he could be vulnerable to, that he could _afford_ to be vulnerable to.

 

He closed his eyes tightly against the sound, against the images still pouring into his mind, “Harry?” he said weakly.

 

He was dead. He saw his dead body. He saw his stark paleness and unmoving figure.

 

He was _dead_. He can't be here.

 

Warm arms surrounded him comfortably, reassuringly; long-fingered hands started to drag in his hair and scalp. He held onto the source of comfort not unlike a frightened child, grasping onto the man’s sweater-covered back with a bruising grip. Tom shuddered.

 

“I’m here, babe,” the same voice whispered soothingly into his hair. Tom didn't have the strength, nor the will to protest the pet-name. He shuddered again and burrowed into his chest before the implications registered in his mind.

 

Tom suddenly jerked back and stared dumbfounded at the _very much alive_ Harry Potter in front of him.

 

The healer from before glanced one more time before closing the curtains around his bed for privacy.

 

Anger rose in him as quickly as the fear from before.

 

“You were dead,” he hissed, taking in his lover avidly, like it was cool water amidst a drought. He extricated himself from Harry’s grip with a jerk, a film of tears starting to well up in his eyes. Tom refused to let then fall.

 

“You were dead,” he repeated, raking over his clean, messy hair, concerned eyes, and frowning mouth. Said mouth frowned even more.

 

“I had to pretend I was dead,” Harry corrected softly, “Malfoy's mum lied to Voldemort and told him that I was- I had to continue the charade,”

 

“You made me think you were dead,” Tom stated flatly.

 

“I _had to_ ,” Harry insisted, “I'm so, so sorry- Tom, I hated doing that to you. Hearing you like that…” he trailed off.

 

“It was worse than the cruciatus Tom,” he stated firmly, “And speaking of which, what were you thinking?! Going after Voldemort like that?! You knew he would kill you. You knew he would win. _Why_?”

 

Harry was breathing hard, impassioned; and despite the wild fear in his eyes and the trembling of his fingers…  he was gorgeous. Alive.

 

“You could've died; hell you did die! For three whole minutes!! The normal resuscitation spell did not work! They had to use the potion, which hasn't had to be used in _years_ ,”

 

“You rant to me about self-preservation constantly, and you decided throw your life away? What were you thinking?”

 

Tom sneered at that, “Maybe I wasn't,”

 

Harry blinked, anger suddenly dissipated, “What?”

 

“Maybe I wasn't thinking,”

 

Harry’s brilliant green eyes welled at that, and he whispered, “Oh Tom…” reaching out to give him a hug.

 

Tom pushed him away and his eyebrows furrowed in anger, “I don't want your pity,” he snarled.

 

Harry let a tear fall and reached forward again to envelop Tom, and he faux-reluctantly let him, “I’m _so_ , so sorry that I made you believe I was dead. That was the worst experience of my life, and believe me- my life isn't sunshine and rainbows,” he joked.

 

Tom let out a small smile into his sweater at that.

 

“Please, please forgive me…”

 

“Harry,” he interjected hurriedly before Harry can continue to ramble, “I forgave you when I saw you _alive_ , with me. Doesn't mean I'm not still angry- but I’m so, so happy that I can't be bothered right now,”

 

Harry let out a sniffle and dug his mop of unruly black hair into the crook of his neck, the complete reverse of earlier.

 

Tom paused, a sudden thought came to him, “Voldemort is dead?”

 

“Yeah, from his own Avada Kedavra. It reflected off my expelliarmus,”

 

“... Good,”

 

There was an even longer pause as the two men took comfort in each other, being complimentary anchors that grounded the other to reality.

 

“We will rebuild,” Tom said resolutely.

 

“ _We_ will rebuild,” Harry agreed.

 

That exact quote was said once more when Harry stood at the ministry atop a podium; cheering, battle-weary citizens raising their wands to commemorate those lost.

 

Tom smiled at Harry amongst the crowd, an emerald engagement ring waiting to be given in his front pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all are crying rn. If so, then my job is done. >:)
> 
> I've never done a happy-ending before, so I hope I do this concept justice!! Please comment your thoughts!
> 
> ~Katelynn Irene Lovegood


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